


Storm, Sea, and Pimpernel

by DesertScribe



Category: The Scarlet Pimpernel - Baroness Orczy
Genre: Bad Weather, Canon-Typical Trolling, Evil Plans, Failboat Fox Hunts, Fishing, Gen, High Fashion In Low Circumstances, Ocean Voyages, Who Thought It Was A Good Idea To Give The Prince Of Wales A Pet Leopard?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-04-06 07:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19057846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertScribe/pseuds/DesertScribe
Summary: Chauvelin has devised the perfect plan to finally defeat the Scarlet Pimpernel, and Sir Percy seems more than willing to take the bait, but between unavoidable social obligations and other problems, getting the two of them back to France to close the trap proves to be more difficult than usual.





	1. Setting the trap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirin/gifts).



Our story began at the docks of a small coastal village where Citizen Chauvelin and his men had captured a group of monks and nuns. 

Why did Chauvelin care about these monks and nuns who helped others whenever they could and harmed no one? As always, the answer was that Chauvelin cared nothing about sacrificing innocent victims and everything about revenge. He intended to use these poor men and women of God as bait so that he could lure the Scarlet Pimpernel and as many of his League of meddling Englishmen as possible into a trap and thereby dispose of the lot of them. And if some of the monks happened to be former aristocrats then so much the better. No one would care that the former aristos had given up their titles years ago and few people would be aware of the irony of Chauvelin having given up a title of his own.

How did he capture the monks and nuns? The monks and nuns had been going about their lives as usual even after the beginnings of the French Revolution and religion being made illegal, because they had been in a monastery in a remote location and kept to themselves, so nobody else paid much attention to their continued existence. They grew their own food and shared whatever little extra they could produce with the people of the nearby town, just as they always had since the monastery was first built, and life went on as usual, only with less bell ringing to advertise all the prayer sessions of the day. The residents of the monastery might have gotten all the way through and beyond the end of The Terror, but one day the only son of the mayor of the town nearly drowned in a river and, though he was pulled from the waters alive, the boy soon fell deathly ill with pneumonia. The town's only doctor could do nothing, and so with nowhere else to turn, the desperate mayor and his wife brought their son to the monastery, seeking a miracle which, sadly, was not to be.

When neither the small amount of medical expertise available nor the great number of prayers by all the residents proved able to save the boy from death's embrace, the mayor and his wife began seeking vengeance instead. They sent word of the monastery's continued existence to those in Paris to those who took care of such matters, and only warnings from sympathetic townsfolk prevented all who lived within the walls from being punished with far more than the disbanding of their order which they would have faced back at the beginning of the Revolution. For having flouted the law against religion for so long, now they could expect no less than death.

A few sought refuge by quietly returning to the families who they had left when they took their vows. The rest did not want to abandon or hide from their calling and so fled to the coast where they hoped to find sympathetic souls willing to help them with passage to England where they could try to continue their work. It was that small coastal village where they encountered their greatest difficulties yet. A couple of representatives of the monks and nuns had been asking around the village, trying to find a boat or boats that could carry them across the English Channel. Unfortunately, it had been very stormy lately, and no one in any position to potentially provide transport wanted to risk the vessels which were their livelihoods.

Agents and spies for the Committee for Public Safety were everywhere in France, even in the smallest of villages, keeping watch for any citizens who might wish to renounce their glorious freedom and try to wriggle back into the false comfort provided by the burdensome yoke and shackles of monarchy. One of these agents caught word of the monks and nuns and their quest for passage to England, and news was sped back to Paris far faster than anything so mundane as the day's quota of fish. Those in power in the capital thought little of the news but sent a small group of men to go collect the wandering monks and nuns for trial and inevitable execution, just because that was how things were done in this new Republic of France. Citizen Chauvelin, on the other hand, heard the news and cared very much, because saw in it an opportunity to lure his nemesis into the open. He finagled his way into being named the leader of the men being sent.

The monks and nuns, being used to living lives of honesty and simplicity, were not very good at subterfuge, so they were more or less out in the open and easily captured when Chauvelin and his men arrived in the village. And once Chauvelin acquired his bait, it was time for him to set his trap. Chauvelin took a gamble, for he knew that was the only way to entice his for into gambling with his own life in turn. The devious Citizen selected a pair of the nuns, specifically ones from humble backgrounds instead of any of the daughters of wealthy or titled families, so that their loss would not be of any great concern if word of said loss got back to Chauvelin's masters back in Paris, and arranged for them to be able to "escape" under the pretext of the men holding their part of the group had gotten drunk and let their guard down.

A small group of other men loyal to the cause of France were planted nearby to offer their "help" to the nuns in escaping. All went according to plan, and the men took the fleeing nuns to a boat they had prepared and sailed them to England. During the entire long journey along the eastern coast of France and then across the English Channel, the men made sure to pretend to be very frightened of being discovered by the authorities whenever they thought the nuns might be watching or listening. They also made sure to talk quite a lot about the exploits of the Scarlet Pimpernel so that the nuns, who had apparently been so sheltered in their convent that they had not heard of that greatest of English blights against _liberté, égalité,_ and _fraternité_ , would know who to inquire after in searching for help for their fellow captives once they got to England.

Citizen Chauvelin's scheme was a success, and news of the nuns' plight soon reached our intrepid hero's ears. And what was our hero Sir Percy doing when he heard the news of the "escaped" nuns and the rest of the monks and nuns still being held captive back in France? As should be expected of the man who, when not risking his own life to save others, hid himself behind the persona of the most exquisite of dandies and toast of all London society, the call of adventure reached Sir Percy Blakeney as he was strutting about in public in and showing off his latest finery as if the embroidery highlighting his oversized collar and the daring new cut of his trouser legs was the most important concern his supposedly inane fop's brain could imagine. Specifically, he was at the theater with his wife, Lady Marguerite Blakeney, getting refreshments and mingling with the crowd of other members of high society during an intermission when he overheard someone gossiping about the sudden appearance of some poor bedraggled French nuns on somebody's lands down near the coastline. Not liking the implications of such information, Sir Percy quickly made a plan and surreptitiously communicated it to Marguerite under the guise of sneaking a line of kisses along the curve of her beautiful neck as he passed her the exquisitely iced wine which she had requested of him to help battle the heat of the theater. How scandalous that a man should publicly adore his wife so! And he did adore her, but he also adored the adventures which came with risking his life and the lives of the close friends who made up the secretive League of the Scarlet Pimpernel to save the innocents caught in the maw of a revolutionary government seeking purification through bloodshed.

Marguerite had her doubts, of course. She did feel very sorry for her fellow Frenchwomen and their plight but did entirely approve of her husband's plan because it felt suspiciously like a trap. However, Percy said that the fact that it was a trap was exactly why he must step into it, because his fellow League members had been champing at the bit for a new challenge and perhaps this trap was just the thing to give it to them. And even if it was not as challenging as they hoped, there were still people who would needlessly die if denied assistance. It was this last reason which Marguerite agreed with more than Percy's others, and therefore she agreed to help him with his plans by whatever means he required of her. All of this was communicated between them with a few covert whispers hidden in the noise of the crowd, and then husband and wife moved into action as a unified team.

First, Sir Percy drew the attention of the crowd by declaiming some extemporaneous doggerel poetry about the nuns having saved themselves and escaped from France without any help from the Scarlet Pimpernel and were thus sure to become London society's new _cause célèbre_ , which was an improvement from worshipping a shadow but also a tragedy due to the tides of fashion inevitably turning toward their no doubt simple homespun style.

Then it was Marguerite's turn to claim the crowd's attention as she stepped in to publically scold her husband about trying to make everything about himself. She followed that pronouncement with a demand that he have some sympathy for her unfortunate fellow Frenchwomen. Then Marguerite turned her back on Sir Percy and asked the gossipers where she could find the unfortunate nuns so that she might show them the charity which her oafish husband was too vapid to understand.

The crowd drank in the Blakeneys' performance and the stage was set.

The following day, Sir Percy tried to get information from the nuns without being observed while Marguerite did her charity visit. Sir Percy, Marguerite, Sir Andrew Ffoulkes, his wife Suzanne, Lord Antony Dewhurst, and his wife Lady Yvonne all went together to visit the place where the escaped nuns were staying under the pretext of Sir Percy thinking that humoring his wife's desire to bring charity to these poor souls would be like a trip to a menagerie and so he wanted to make a social occasion of it. They were able to talk to the women and get the information they needed, but Suzanne, unaware that Sir Percy was really the Scarlet Pimpernel and already working to help them, promised the nuns that Sir Percy would personally introduce the matter of their plight to the Prince of Wales and make the case to the prince for saving the remaining monks and nuns who were still being held in France. Sir Percy could not get out of agreeing to Suzanne's promise without it seeming suspicious that he would not want to see his good friend the Prince of Wales, so he was forced to alter his plans and accept the delay and hope that it would not be too costly for him or anyone else whose life was or soon would be at risk.

As it so happened, Citizen Armand Chauvelin had also managed to secure an audience with the Prince of Wales on supposedly official business for France, which he arranged to do to create the illusion that he has nothing to do with what is happening with the monks and nuns (he had made sure none of the monks and nuns saw his face and none of the men working for him in the village had been allowed to know his name so they couldn't say it where the wrong person might hear) and so that he could be present to make sure that his enemy took the bait, as if that were ever in question.


	2. Nom d'un chat

Initially, the meeting with the Prince of Wales went much as to be expected with such social events. Sir Percy deflected attention from his clandestine Scarlet Pimpernel activities by acting extra foppish and vapid while meeting with his royal friend. They talked about fashion and sporting, and the Prince of Wales never suspected a thing in regard to Sir Percy's secret identity, and any mocking jabs he happened to send Chauvelin's way in the prince's presence could easily be mistaken by any but their intended target as nothing more than the famous idiot's famous disregard for international current events regarding anything other than fashion trends.

Unfortunately, Sir Percy's attempt to gain a head start in getting to France ahead of Chauvelin by creating a social obligation for Chauvelin with the Prince of Wales to delay the French agent did not go as well as he might have wished. The Prince of Wales had no interest in spending any greater amount of time with Chauvelin than the absolute minimum required by the rules of civility, which was to be expected since few people care to socialize with those who make little secret of being happy to see them forced to ignominiously climb a scaffold and lose their head. On the other hand, the prince found Sir Percy to be as entertaining as always and therefore demanded that Sir Percy attend the royal fox hunt the next day.

Sir Percy could only make halfhearted excuses of having other social obligations and could make no further arguments when the prince insisted that Sir Percy blow them off. Even the Scarlet Pimpernel had to bow to direct orders from the prince of his realm, even when the prince had no idea that was who he was ordering. At best, Sir Percy could only request that if he were required to attend the fox hunt then, "My dear friend, M. Chambertin, simply _must_ be allowed to come along as well. We wouldn't want to send the poor man back to his dreary Republic where all such fun has been abolished, would we?"

The prince agreed, and thus Sir Percy and Chauvelin both presented themselves the next day dressed and ready at an unspeakably early hour of the morning in a courtyard full of other men and horses. However, the hunt was not to be. A storm blew in just as the hunting party was mounting their horses. At first they tried to wait out the rain, but it continued on hour after hour without any sign of stopping or easing. The Prince of Wales swore that his hunting hounds were good enough to follow a scent even in such unpleasant conditions, but no one was really quite as keen for pursuing such soggy and uncomfortable sport as they tried to make their fellow would-be hunters believe, so the complaints were halfhearted at best when the prince finally announced that they would have to delay until the following day before the fox hunt could happen.

"Sir Percy," the Prince of Wales declared, once everyone's obligatory claims of being game to ride a fox hunt in the rain if everyone else was too had died down, "for our next crack at this tomorrow, you simply must invite that charming wife of yours along!"

"I would if I could, your Highness," Sir Percy said, "because, while Marguerite might take little joy in the sport of fox hunting, she is definitely like a ray of sunshine, which our would-be hunt is sorely lacking this time around. There would be no one better to greet out triumphant return. Alas," he added, "there's no controlling a headstrong woman like dearest Marguerite Blakeney, and she will probably prefer to spend the day gossiping with her Lady friends as she is doubt was currently also doing at that very moment, wherever she may be."

"Alas indeed, Sir Percy," said the Prince. "I suppose we shall have to console ourselves with the knowledge that she is bringing light and joy to someone somewhere, even if it is not ourselves."

The party passed the rest of the day doing much the same as they had done for the first hours of attempting to wait out the rain, namely engaging in random bored rich person indoor activities such as sitting around drinking fine wines, playing card games, and occasionally bowling. After enjoying the late luncheon which was meant to have been served after the hunt, everyone followed the prince out into the rain for three games of trucco and one of pall-mall in which servants followed everyone around with umbrellas to keep the players and spectators dry, though there was little anyone could do to keep their footwear clean. Despite the hunt not happening due to the rain, the society pages would later describe the impromptu entertainments as a smashing success.

The sheer uselessness of it all grated on Chauvelin even before Sir Percy got his obnoxious fop act into full swing for the occasion, and once that happened, the situation became near unbearable. He only got through the day without incident by reminding himself that it could not last forever and soon the next part of his plan could be put into action, closing the jaws of the trap around his prey once and for all.

Before the guests dispersed for the evening with promises to return for the hunt on the morrow, the Prince of Wales showed everyone his royal menagerie, which included a new gift he had just received from a friend in India: a supposedly tame black leopard who lounged about as regally as a queen in a pretty jeweled collar. Chauvelin, who had been getting dragged around to all the rainy day activities by Percy so that Chauvelin could not get away to go back and fine tune his trap in France (and also, no doubt, just to annoy him for the fun of it), liked this part least of all, seeing such a collection of animals as just another demonstration of the deliberate wastefulness of the aristocracy at the expense of all others. 

Then, to make matters even more uncomfortable for the Frenchman, the leopard decided that she had taken a liking to him. This baffled the man and amused everyone else, especially once Sir Percy pointed out how alike Chauvelin and the leopard are and joked about how when a leopard is all black no one can know whether it changes its spots or not. The Prince of Wales in turn made a joke about how Sir Percy was more like a peacock: all about being well dressed and willing to take part in competitions to look good in front of the ladies but liable to shriek and flee when confronted with any real danger. Percy just laughed and said it was better to leave all the daredevilry to The Scarlet Pimpernel and his lot. Chauvelin refrained from commenting on the matter. He knew his moment of triumph would come and would be all the sweeter for the hardships which he had endured while working to attain it. 

The next day saw the delayed fox hunt finally get underway. Citizen Chauvelin had no interest in this particular type of blood sport, but he was once again obliged to attend the event since he had been invited to the cancelled one the day before. While everyone else chased after the hounds, who in turn chased after the fox, Chauvelin trailed along far behind the lot of them, barely keeping his own personal quarry in sight. Chauvelin followed the group around as best as he can for not being a very good horseman. Though the sky was now clear, the hunt was a miserable and muddy experience thanks to the rain the day before, and Chauvelin found himself bothered and bitten by various insects and stung by a bee, but he was able to keep an eye on Sir Percy for the whole event and ensure that the man never had time to sneak away to hold meetings with any of his men or leave the hunt early and escape unobserved to go adventuring in France. Chauvelin was also able to gain a measure of satisfaction from seeing the Englishmen ultimately fail at their fox hunt as the hounds lost the scent, forcing everyone to end their chase to return home tired and muddy and without anything to show for their ordeal.

"It appears that you find yourself humbled today, Sir Percy," the Frenchman observed as the somewhat subdued group rode back toward their starting point, where refreshments and clean clothes awaited them.

Sir Percy, who was one of the few members still sitting tall and proud in the saddle, laughed gaily at the intended barb. "On the contrary, M. Chambertin," he said, refusing to be shamed even in apparent failure, "I quite enjoy a hunt where the fox wins. Less mess at the end and all that, you know. Besides, there would be no true sport in the hunt if there were no question of the outcome. Given your apparent constant chasing after a seemingly uncatchable phantom, I would think that you of all people would have learned to appreciate hunting without bagging your quarry. Why else would you keep doing it?"

"I pursue my prey in service to my country, Sir Percy," Chauvelin replied.

"La, but that sounds dreadfully dull," Sir Percy said, and his fellow hunters surrounding them chuckled in agreement.

Despite the initial delay and then failure of the hunt, the prince announced that he was very happy with the entertainments of the past few days and that he had such a good time that he insisted that Sir Percy participate in royal sporting activities more often. The prince was so eager that he decided to hold another hunt in just a few days and Sir Percy simply must come back and help the prince take another shot at capturing that same wily fox which had evaded their capture just now.

This of course would have interfered with Sir Percy's own preferred secret sport of spiriting innocents out of France before they could be claimed by the guillotine. Being unable to admit to any of that, Sir Percy instead claimed to have caught a chill during the soggy fox hunt and therefore needed to go back to his house in Richmond, or at least leave London, to recuperate.

The prince laughed at such an assertion, because the great Sir Percy Blakeney, as always, looks healthy as a pampered English race horse. "You aren't just trying to get away from me, Sir Percy, are you?"

"La, no, your highness," Sir Percy replied, "I would never!"

"Now, now, Sir Percy," the prince said, still laughing but now in a conciliatory manner, "I know you just want to go sailing in that beautiful schooner of yours without me."

"Of course not! I couldn't do that even if I wanted to, and I wouldn't want to since it's such terrible weather for that sort of thing right now. You see, I promised Holt and Hastings they could borrow the Daydream, something about some wager they have going between 'em about who has the strongest stomach in rough seas. They're leaving tomorrow, and even before catching this demmed cold I had no intention of going with them. I may be a sporting man, but there's some sport I can live without. Oh, I placed bets with the boys on the outcome, but I'll leave it to their honor to tell me the outcome instead of suffering the consequences of being there to witness the unpleasantness for myself. No, I intend to withdraw from society for a while and recuperate, you could even say rusticate, in the hopes that the next time anyone sees me I won't feel like I'm in danger of giving them the plague. No, what I need is some good old peace and quiet, maybe a fishing holiday somewhere remote, just myself and maybe a valet. Yes, that sounds like just the thing to get my humors back in order."

The prince raised an eyebrow at that explanation, as well he should. "Getting up before dawn to go standing around outdoors in the cold and damp for hours at a time doesn't sound very restful or recuperative. Some could say it would be even worse than going fox hunting, which at least would be sure to keep your blood pumping."

"Oh, but it's recuperative enough, your highness, and even if it isn't then at least there won't be anyone else around to complain about the constant sneezing like there would be if I went to the theater in this state."

"True, true," muttered the Prince. "You have made your case and convinced me, Sir Percy. I therefore forbid you to show your face in society for the next fortnight, at the very least. No doubt you'll use some of that leisure time to work on some new cravat knot and when you come back you'll have the rest of fashionable London running to catch up again."

"It would ruin half the fun if I warned you head of time."

"Of course, Sir Percy, of course. Now go recover yourself, and give my regards to that beautiful wife of yours when you see her."

"I shall do so with the greatest of pleasure, your highness, though I do hope it will be some days before she returns from wherever she's gone off to with her friends just so I don't risk giving her this demmed cold."

While Sir Percy was leaving, a servant ran up and urgently whispered something in the Prince's ear. Sir Percy was too far away to overhear what is said, so he made a big show of stopping and asking if the news is any juicy gossip involving affairs of state.

"It's only about the state of my menagerie," the prince answered ruefully. "Apparently someone forgot to lock the leopard cage, and she has escaped!"

"Have you tried calling for her, your Highness?" Sir Percy ventured while about the room, as if the leopard might be lurking behind the furniture, waiting to spring out at them. "That is the usual thing to do with lost pets, is it not?"

"I hadn't actually thought of a name for her yet, so I've nothing to call her by," the prince admitted. "Being a giant cat, I suppose she would probably just ignore anyone calling her name anyway. It shouldn't be a problem, though, because she's really just a big pussy cat, honest. Even so, Sir Percy, you should be careful not to run if you see her as you're leaving, lest that make her decide to pounce on you."

"Yes," Chauvelin commented with a sarcastic twist of his thin lips, "it would be such a shame if the Prince's new cat killed England's favorite peacock."

"Perhaps my dear friend, M. Chambertin, should be left behind at the palace to act bait," Sir Percy told the prince, "since your leopard seemed to like him so much. You could just leave him sitting around in a chair somewhere, the leopard should slink out of nowhere and sit on his lap, because like all cats she would be drawn to the place where she was least wanted. And if that fails," Sir Percy continued, sketching an elegant bow of farewell to his prince, "well, I promise that I shall keep an eye out for her wherever I go and return her to you if I am able, though I suspect she may prove to be as elusive as that demmed Scarlet Pimpernel. And, you know, I do believe that I have been struck with a bolt of inspiration for a new poem!" He shot a sly glance in Chauvelin's direction and then recited, "I seek her here, I seek her there. Our good prince seeks her everywhere. Is she in London or eating a shepherd? That demmed elusive black leopard." And, thus, with the prince's merry laughter still ringing in his ears, Sir Percy was finally able to make his escape.


	3. A voyage started, a voyage interrupted

As soon as he was away from the Prince, Sir Percy sent word to Holt and Hastings, telling them that they needed to rush off and sail away on the Daydream while making noises to their non-League acquaintances about betting which of them was the better seaman. Holt and Hastings did as they were told, and Chauvelin almost followed the two men on their intentionally unpleasant journey, thinking that Sir Percy must have been planning to sneak away with them on his way to France and the waiting trap, but then Chauvelin spotted a stooped and heavily cloaked figure limping along the docks toward a different boat.

Chauvelin only has a moment to decide, so he told his loyal man Herbert, the only assistant he had brought with him on this part of the mission, to find his own passage back to France with all haste, return to the small fishing village, and instruct the other men waiting there to capture any man who appeared eager to help the monks and nuns, but otherwise then should not do anything until he arrived to personally instruct them on what to do next, because he would be close on the heels of their main prey, the Scarlet Pimpernel, and under no circumstances were they to give the game away too early.

Then Chauvelin ran off after the hooded figure as stealthily as he could and shadowed him to a decrepit old floating mess of a boat, just in time to see the hooded figure board said vessel, throw off his cloak, and reveal that, yes, it was indeed Sir Percy getting ready to leave England. Chauvelin took a gamble and followed Sir Percy. Nobody notices the slender shadowy figure sneaking aboard while Sir Percy and his crew consulted below decks before making the final preparations to cast off. Soon after that, the ship made its departure, and not even Chauvelin noticed the second and even stealthier shadowy figure making a daring leap aboard after him at the very last minute as the ship pulled away from the docks. By then, Chauvelin had already gone below decks to hide himself amongst the ballast and boxes of no doubt false cargo in the lowest level of the ship.

It was not a great ship, but it was seaworthy enough to get the job done, and the men handling it were competent. Meanwhile, the ship's cat unknowingly proved Sir Percy right as she, like all of her kind, knew exactly where she was least wanted and took an immediate interest in Chauvelin as soon as she found him while hunting for rats, happily shedding white and orange fur while rubbing herself all over his black clothes as he attempted to remain hidden from everyone below decks. Unwilling to make any noise to drive the cat away lest he attract the attention of Sir Percy or the crew, the Frenchman was forced to endure the feline's purring affections and be consoled that at least he was not receiving such attentions from the prince's wayward leopard.

Chauvelin did not know much about maritime matters, but the trip seemed to be taking longer than it should have. Then the first of the storms hit, driving all such thoughts from Chauvelin's mind as he succumbed to the seasickness brought on by the violent rolling and plunging motions of the ship upon the waves. He lost all concept of time, and he hoped that both Blakeney and the cat, wherever she had taken herself off to as soon as the seas began getting too rough, were feeling just as miserable as he was. It felt like he had been down in that wretched ship's hold for days, though he attributed that to how an hour spent suffering always felt like it took a hundred times longer to pass than an hour spent in joy, a concept which all his interactions with Blakeney illustrated perfectly.

Eventually the storm subsided, and Chauvelin was still recovering from his ordeal when he was forced to hurriedly hide himself deeper among the boxes as crew members came down into the bilges to check that the small ship had not taken on too much water during the storm. Satisfied that the seals between the planks of their vessel are still sound, the crew members departed back toward the upper levels, complaining as they went about having to fight for every single inch across the English Channel and around the tip of Brittany.

Chauvelin was very hungry by now, having not eaten anything since the post-fox hunt refreshments, and he knew from the crew members' talk that they were barely halfway to the village where his trap was waiting far south along the western coast of the country, almost to Spain. He considered sneaking out to find food, but did not want to risk being caught. He weighed the need of his hunger against the need of his continued concealment. For a while he was able to give more weight to staying hidden, but eventually the rumbling of his empty stomach became great enough that he began plotting how he might somehow sneak into the ship's galley area or food storage room with the least danger of revealing himself. He was only saved from taking such a gamble by discovering that one of the boxes which he had been hiding amongst had been knocked around enough by the violent motions of the ship in the storm that its lid was beginning to come loose, and the scent coming from within implied that the contents should be edible. It took no small bit of effort, but Chauvelin had previously discovered a small collection of pikes and boarding cutlasses stored against one of the walls near the stairs to the upper decks during his exploration of the area, and he was able to use one of those as a lever and pry the lid off of the crate the rest of the way off to reveal what appeared to be wheels of aged English cheddar. It was hardly fitting cheese for a Frenchman, but it was better than starving, so Chauvelin wasted little time in taking advantage of his discovery.

Not long after that, another storm blew in, causing Chauvelin to lose all interest in food yet again for a very long time thereafter. His only consolation through all the misery of his second long bout of seasickness is that such a storm must surely require all other hands onboard, including Sir Percy's own delicately lily white ones, to be out on deck to fight the wind and waves, meaning that everyone else must surely be even more miserable than he was.

It seemed to go on forever, but all earthly storms must eventually come to an end, and after some unknown number of days, the turbulent tossing of both sea and sky eased back to its more usual levels, leaving Chauvelin once again to face his recovery exactly as he had spent his discomfort, alone. 

All earthly voyages must also eventually come to an end, either by reaching a destination or by destruction. Chauvelin considered himself lucky that this voyage came to its end by the former means rather than the latter, because there had been a long while when that outcome had seemed to be in doubt. However, Chauvelin could not be sure yet if it was his intended one or if the intrepid Scarlet Pimpernel had decided to cut short his journey by sea in the face of adverse conditions and travel the rest of the way to the small village by land, because it was nighttime and nothing, neither lights of land, nor stars in the sky, nor even the dark water immediately surrounding the ship, could be seen through the few tiny portholes which Chauvelin had access to on either side of the ship's bilge area, so their arrival at a destination created a new problem for the would-be trapper of the greatest of prey, because the sounds and changes of motion in the boat suggested that they were dropping anchor some distance from shore instead of tying up to the village's dock. Chauvelin did not know how he could possibly continue to follow Sir Percy while remaining unobserved if the man was planning to row ashore.

Those worries were interrupted by the sounds of tromping boots and an all too familiar voice giving orders regarding "capturing and confining our stowaway to prevent any trouble." Apparently the good Citizen had not been as unobserved as he had thought he was!

Unwilling to face another imprisonment such as when his enemy had left him ignominiously locked in the cellar of La Rodière, especially not after having already spent so much time confined in the squalor of the ship's bilges of his own volition, Chauvelin decided that his best recourse lay in resorting to what his enemy would expect from him the least, namely a direct attack. In most cases, such a plan would have been folly, but within the confines of the ship Sir Percy's greater height and reach would be more of a hindrance than an advantage. With that thought in mind, Chauvelin took hold of one of the boarding cutlasses (not the one he had earlier used as a lever, though, because that one was now too bent out of shape to make a proper weapon) and sprang into action.

Sir Percy had the gall to pretend to be surprised to see the French Agent as a stowaway, and for a while the Englishman gave ground in the face of Chauvelin's furious onslaught until they emerged into the open air. Yet another storm inevitably began to bear down as they were fighting, but neither spared it much attention beyond Sir Percy taking a moment to shout to the crew to see to the ship instead of interfering with the duel. It would be tempting to say that the fight was an epic battle of elegance versus savagery, with each party believing themselves to be the representative of civilization fighting back the worst humanity had to offer, but in truth is was closer to an awkward brawl. Neither man had had any training in that style of sword, so the fight is not over as quickly as it might have been with more gentlemanly weapons, and when coupled with the heaving seas and increasingly rain-slicked surfaces, all the successful dodging and parrying which happened was more a matter of luck than skill. Or maybe the Scarlet Pimpernel was merely allowing the swordfight to be prolonged for the sheer amusement at the novelty of it. In fact, though Sir Percy as always has the advantage in athleticism, before there could be a definitive winner, a large wave crashed across the deck and swept Chauvelin overboard, ending the fight in a most unsatisfactory manner.

Chauvelin's world collapsed down into nothing but cold black water. Only pure chance brought him back to the surface long enough for him to gasp a breath before he was dragged under again. In that desperate moment, he thought he caught a glimpse of Sir Percy silhouetted by the meager light from the ship's lanterns as he dove in after him. But then one of the boxes which had been tied down on the deck but had gotten its ropes cut during the swordfight to be swept into the water along with Chauvelin and most everything which was not tied down or lucky enough to be holding on to something, collided with Chauvelin's head, and everything went even blacker than the night already was. When Chauvelin woke (much to his surprise, since his last conscious thought had been that he was going to drown) he had a splitting headache and, worse yet, he appeared to be stranded on a deserted island with only Sir Percy Blakeney for company.

Sir Percy assured him not to worry because the boat was sure to come find them eventually, assuming they did not go and do something silly like letting themselves sink in the storm instead. In the meantime, it looked like Sir Percy had gotten his fishing vacation after all, so they might as well make the best of it. In all of his supposedly reassuring speech, Sir Percy made no mention of the swordfight the night before. Was it only the night before? Chauvelin was disturbingly unsure of just how much time has passed, both since he was last awake and since they left England, because the island they are on looked suspiciously tropical, and Chauvelin doesn't like the implications of that one bit, not at all. The situation looked like they probably would not be getting back to France any time soon.


	4. Robinson Crusoe, sans goats

"Just how long do you think it will take your fellows to return for us if they aren't at the bottom of the ocean?" Chauvelin said with a pained sigh.

"Odds teeth, my man, don't sound so gloomy as all that," Sir Percy said, giving Chauvelin a jovial slap on the back. "It shouldn't take them long to come back. A week, maybe two, and surviving that long in a veritable paradise like this should be no trouble at all. Why, I once read a book when I was a boy about a man who found himself stranded on an island and lived quite comfortably there for some twenty odd years or so. I doubt that amount of time is representative of the average, though, and besides I think the whole story may have been a fiction, but we can still take courage and inspiration from it. With some ingenuity, we can live here for as long as we like, just like Robinson Crusoe, sans goats, though, since this island doesn't have 'em. Just as well, too, because the beastly little menaces would have eaten everything down to nothing years ago if they had been around to make a try of it." Sir Percy then went on to explain how he had explored the entire island and returned with some lengths of rope and sailcloth which must have come loose from the ship during the storm and blown ashore along with the castaways and which he intended to fashion into a rough shelter and a hammock.

Chauvelin asked how long he was unconscious, and Percy replied not nearly long enough to change his mind for the better but apparently not long enough to addle his wits either.

Sir Percy claimed that the box which knocked Chauvelin unconscious had had his fishing equipment in it and that he is most cross at Chauvelin for causing its loss. However, Sir Percy was able to unravel the crocheted lace of his cravat into its original single silk thread and bent his cravat pin into the semblance of a fishhook, which he then used to catch food for them. How many hours had the dedicated master lace maker toiled to create that elaborate work of decorative art, and how many more hours did it take the Scarlet Pimpernel to render it back down to its component thread so that it could be turned to wholly utilitarian purposes? How many hours did a jeweler spend to create an elegant decoration only to have it so casually ruined and bent into a simple tool without care for its cost? It is perhaps best to not dwell on such painful questions. The sparkling of the brilliant jewel at its top made it irresistible to hungry fish.

Sir Percy also collected shellfish from off the rocks. "What's the matter which has you looking so ill, M. Chambertin? I thought you Frenchies liked eating snails." He collected edible seaweed from where it washed up on the beach. "However many Welshmen and women breakfast on cockles and lavarbread everyday can't all be wrong, can they, M. Chambertin? No, I don't think they can." He made a happy meal of the whole lot, and if Chauvelin's meal made from the same bounty was perhaps less happy due to the company it kept, then at least it was still a meal.

They had a discussion about the standard life of someone living in the squalor of poverty like the French Revolution seemed to be trying to reduce everyone to versus "roughing it" on an island and how Percy didn't think Chauvelin was very good at doing either. He might not cling to the trappings of an extravagant lifestyle, but for all his veneer of simplicity he was not very capable of doing much for himself, whereas Percy enjoyed ridiculous over the top froufrou but was equally happy roasting wild plants he foraged for himself over a campfire and then sleeping under the stars.

The next day, Chauvelin tried to explore the island. Sir Percy let him go without apparent supervision, claiming that he already knew his way around the whole place and there wasn't much Chauvelin can do to hurt himself short of standing too long in the sun, slipping on fallen leaves, running his head into a tree, or deliberately trying to drown himself, and the good Citizen had no intention of doing any of those things. Chauvelin wandered around the coast of the small island, strolling along the sand where he was able and slowly picking his way over the rocks where he had no other choice. Along the way, he saw what looked like a cove which could have acted like a natural harbor, but there was no dock or other sign of habitation that he could see, so he continued on, and all too soon he found that he had come right back to where he started. Had he been in a hurry, he probably could have made the full circumnavigation in less than an hour, and he had nothing to show for all his exertions beyond his hands, knees, and shins being scraped and sore from climbing over the rocks, and now he was tired and hungry. And thanks to being hatless, he was sunburned as well, not that he was willing to admit that that Sir Percy's facetious warnings had held any truth to them.

Sir Percy saw the truth of the situation without Chauvelin needing to make any mention of it and immediately offered to make him a lovely hat out of palm fronds. "La, but it truly is amazing how the basketry skills one learns while pretending to be an old woman can prove useful in other aspects of life. Don't you think?" Alas, it would not be able to match the rest of his outfit unless Chauvelin had been collecting squids for their black ink while Sir Percy was not looking, but a nice deep green was not too bad of a color, very popular this season as a matter of fact. Then, with a great flourish and mocking bow, Sir Percy produced a readymade palm frond hat from behind his back and presented it to Chauvelin as if he were bestowing a gift upon royalty, which annoyed Chauvelin even more than the ridiculousness of the hat did. "There, M. Chambertin," Sir Percy said with that inimitable and most grating of inane laughs, "now, for the first time in your life, you can be the second most fashionable man within a hundred miles or more! A nice chapeau-bras will be just the thing for the situation, stylish yet utilitarian. And you can always pull the brim down flatter for more shade," he added with a chuckle, "though ironically that would make the hat less flattering. All you need to do is try it on."

"Of course, I will do so at once, Sir Percy," Chauvelin told his enemy, having no intention of doing anything of the sort.

Sir Percy gave a lazy smile in response, donned an identical palm frond hat of his own, and went back to fishing.

Chauvelin threw the hat into the fire as soon as Sir Percy turned his back. The green leaves smoked most foully as they burned, and he liked to think that the dark column which briefly rose into the sky might serve as a signal to some distant passing ship, not that he had seen the faintest hint of sails on the horizon in his many hours of staring out to sea since first awakening on this secluded isle. And even if there was no one to see such a signal, the act of destroying anything made by Blakeney, especially that green monstrosity, was deeply satisfying. Sir Percy pretended not to notice any of that.

Chauvelin had not yet explored the interior of the island, but he was not in the best of physical condition, so he decided to sit around and recover from his previous exertions for a while first. In fact, exploring the interior would have to wait until morning, because he reluctantly noticed that there was not very much daylight left, so unless Chauvelin wanted to put together his sleeping place in the dark, trust Sir Percy to do it for him, or share the one Sir Percy had already assembled (and all three of those options seemed unwise for a variety of reasons) then he needed to take care of that soon. Chauvelin grudgingly ate Sir Percy's cooking once again, made a rough bed from a crisscrossing pile of palm fronds, and fell asleep before the last faint smudges of the sunset disappeared from the horizon.

Chauvelin spent an uncomfortable night intermittently waking up and having to listen to Sir Percy snore for what felt like hours at a time before falling asleep only to repeat the process again just a short time later. Or maybe Sir Percy stayed awake all night long, merely pretending to sleep while making the most horrible snoring noises imaginable, sometimes sounding more like a growling beast than a human being, just to disturb and annoy Chauvelin. Chauvelin would not put it past the man.


	5. Discoveries

When Chauvelin got up in the morning, he ate and then disappeared into the jungle-like interior of the island, as much in a quest for solitude as any true desire for exploration. Sir Percy let him depart with no other hindrance than an offer of another palm frond hat and a merry admonishment of, "Be careful as you go, M. Chambertin, there's no telling what might lurking in the island's interior. There could be cannibals for all you know," both of which Chauvelin fully ignored.

Chauvelin knew from walking the perimeter of the island the day before that there should not be very much area to explore. However, once he was within the cool shade of the trees it was all too easy for him to lose his sense of direction, especially as the sun climbed to be more directly overhead, making it more difficult to judge east and west by the angle of the shadows. Without any means of marking where had already been, he wandered for some hours unable to guess whether he had explored the entirety of the island's interior, or half of it, or if he had been bumbling around within the same small handful of acres the whole time without ever seeing the majority of the rest.

It was not an entirely wasted effort though. Chauvelin was able to find a freshwater pool nestled in a hollow in the rocks of the hillside, so at least he was able to get a drink without having to find his way back to the camp and ask Sir Percy to open a coconut for him. There were mats of mosses and other tender green plants growing around the edges of the pool, and while part of him worried that Sir Percy might be able to signal a passing ship and leave without him, he did not quite feel it was a likely enough possibility for him to go hurrying back to spend more interminable time in Sir Percy's company quite yet.

In fact, it was very peaceful by the small sheltered pool, and with each passing moment the moss mats appeared more and more inviting, and the unfortunate Citizen Chauvelin has slept oh so very poorly the night before and also for several nights before that on the ship. Surely it would not be too terrible to stretch out there and take a short nap far from anyone else's snoring. Chauvelin decided to do exactly that. His eyes drifted closed as soon as he settled himself upon the pillow of moss, which was far more comfortable than his ridged bed of palm fronds the night before. Within seconds he was sleeping like one dead to the world.

Not even the sounds of a shadowy figure creeping through the nearby underbrush several times throughout the day were enough to wake him.

Chauvelin's slumber beside the pool was deep and restful. Unfortunately, it also lasted too long, because when he awoke he discovered that he had slept for so long that he has missed his chance to use the lengthening shadows to tell which direction is which. He had also missed his chance to make use of the sunlight at all. The sun appeared to have gone down long ago, and now there was barely a sliver of moon occasionally peeking through small gaps in the overcast sky to light his surroundings. The air had turned distinctly chillier, leaving Chauvelin unwilling to spend the rest of the night in the same place where he had so comfortably napped away the heat of the day. His only alternative was to stumble through the trees and undergrowth in the near total darkness, navigating mostly by feel in his attempt to find his way back to the campsite and the fire that Sir Percy was sure to still have going. Chauvelin had been unsure of exactly where he had gotten to on the island while the sun was still up, and now he had the same problem in the dark, but he decided that it was a small enough island that he might as well just go downhill until he inevitably reached the ocean. From there, it would be a simple matter to circle around the perimeter of the island until he rejoined Sir Percy, though it would not necessarily be easy should he find himself needing to cross any of the rocky parts of the shore.

By patience and more than a very large amount of undeserved luck, Citizen Chauvelin managed to feel his way slowly through the 'jungle' undergrowth without tripping over anything, falling into any holes, or walking face first into any low hanging branches. Every once in a while he thought he heard hints of someone walking very quietly behind him, nothing so blatant as the sounds of snapping twigs or kicking small pebbles against other obstacles such as the noises which Chauvelin himself made as he blindly shuffled and groped his way along, but faint noises of something soft brushing against leaves in passing. However, every time that he froze to listen more closely, the other sounds cease also. After a while, Chauvelin gave up trying to locate the culprit, because of course it had to be Sir Percy, following him through the night to witness his discomfort. There was no one else it could have been with the two of them stranded alone on the island.

Chauvelin clenched his jaw in anger at the thought and continued on his way.

As he fumbled his way through the darkness, he waited for some kind of attack, either against his life or merely yet another attack against his dignity. No attack came, though, and when he happened to stumble across a narrow open path through the undergrowth which turned out to be the same short bit of path which Chauvelin had first followed into the forest from the beach, meaning that Chauvelin would not need to climb over and around the rocks to reach the campsite after all, Sir Percy was already lounging on the beach by the fire as casually as you please as if he had been there for hours. Chauvelin considers confronting Sir Percy about the noises behind him in the woods, but he knew Sir Percy would deny following him whether the infuriating man had been doing so or not, so there was no point in bothering.

As Chauvelin approached and dropped down to sit by the fire and warm himself, his enemy greeted him with a lazy wave and an exclamation of, "The intrepid explorer at last returns from the wilderness, and not a moment too soon, either, for I was about to give you up for dead! Truly! I was already trying to suss out how best to word the letter to inform your Committee of Public Safety that you had gone and done something unsafe and met your untimely demise without any help from Madame Guillotine. It's a good thing that you returned to save them from receiving such disappointing news, because at the rate they're going, they seem to want every French citizen to eventually get a turn in her embrace and would have considered losing you to be quite the missed opportunity."

Chauvelin scowled and did not dignify the stream of inane chatter with a verbal response. 

Sir Percy, as always, refused to take the hint. Instead, he continued, "But enough about the habits of your fellow Frogs. Did you discover anything interesting during your expedition? And please don't say frogs, because I refuse to consider those to be interesting while I'm on a fishing holiday."

"I have discovered a source of fresh water," Chauvelin replied haughtily, "so I can finally have something to drink other than that insipid coconut juice. If you ask nicely enough, I might share it with you someday."

Sir Percy's smile did not falter in the slightest. "The one you were taking a nap beside when I went to get a drink? Yes," he said, poking at the small fire with a long stick to adjust the position of the logs and cause the flames to grow higher, "that's the sweeter of the two."

"You knew about it then," Chauvelin said flatly, "and another as well."

"As I said before, I've already explored this whole island, but I wanted you to be able to feel a sense of accomplishment. It's so very important to be able to keep one's morale high in adverse conditions."

"So you've already known everything there is to know about the place since day one."

"I wouldn't say _everything_ there is to know, M. Chambertin. Why, just this afternoon I discovered something new and quite fascinating." Sir Percy dropped his voice to a whisper, as if worried he might be overheard by some improbable third party. "Remember how I said there might be cannibals lurking in the woods? I had been being facetious at the time, but it turns out that there really are cannibals! Demmed clever of me to be able to tell the truth without even meaning to, don't you think?"

Or perhaps the third party might not be so improbable after all.

"Cannibals!" Chauvelin quickly turned and tried to scan their surroundings, but sitting at the fire had ruined his night vision, so he had only his imagination to inform him of what might be lurking beyond the sphere of light and warmth. "And you're just sitting here out in the open? I heard someone following me in the woods and now you tell me there cannibals around? We need to prepare to protect ourselves!"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about all that," Sir Percy said, still poking unconcernedly at the fire. "You see, they're very small cannibals, not much of a threat at all."

"Pygmies?" Chauvelin asked. He had read about Pygmies and how deadly they could be, but he had thought Pygmies were supposed to live in Africa instead of on islands. Perhaps the ship had carried them farther than he thought and they were on an African island?

Sir Percy laughed gaily, "Smaller."

"What kind of people are smaller than Pygmies?" If this was all leading up to nothing more than an impending joke about Chauvelin's own height, then he was going to find a way to kill Sir Percy before any cannibals got the chance, whatever size they may be.

"Who said anything about people? I'm talking about snails, my deal fellow, very small snails, in fact, and yet very fierce. I was taking a restorative _siesta_ in my hammock," and here Sir Percy gave up poking at the fire and stretched out on the sand beside it with his legs crossed at the ankles and his head resting comfortably with his fingers laced together beneath it as if illustrating the position he must have been in while resting in the aforementioned hammock, "and awoke when the breeze dropped a leaf onto my face. What should be on it but two snails circling around each other like a pair of pugilists sizing each other in the ring before committing to a strategy of attack. Then they closed with each other, all very slowly of course, but with the two of them looking so alike it was fiendishly difficult to tell them apart once the fighting began. This was no honor duel to the first blood or prize fight with the winner merely upending the loser. No, things soon turned ugly, and in the end there were still two snail shells but only one still had a snail in it, and that snail was much better fed than it had been before the fight. So, as I said, this island has cannibals." Sir Percy laughed again then yawned and concluded with a drawled question of, "Makes a man want to reconsider all his views of escargot, don't it?"

Chauvelin, however, had other things on his mind than escargot or anything else related to Sir Percy's story of snails now that his brief fears of cannibals had been eased, because that whole tale had the feel of misdirection, leaving Chauvelin wondering what his enemy might be trying to distract him from. Then, remembering Sir Percy's initial question from before the annoying digression, Chauvelin narrowed his eyes in suspicion and asked, "Was there anything of interest I _should_ have found?"

Sir Percy gave a languid shrug of his shoulders and merely replied, "That answer would be entirely dependent on what your definition of 'interesting' is."

Chauvelin was too tired to want to continue such an obviously fruitless conversation, but after his long nap and recent fright he was also too awake to fall asleep again any time soon, so all he could do was lie down, roll over, and pretended to go to sleep. He considered giving Sir Percy a taste of his own medicine and making the most annoying false snoring noises he could manage all through the night, but he decided that such an attempt would likely be more annoying to himself than it would be to Sir Percy and thus was not worth the effort.


	6. Bringing down Bibi

Chauvelin tried to pass the following days without going mad and trying to kill Sir Percy, which was looking more and more desirable as time wore on but would greatly hinder Chauvelin's own continued survival while waiting for rescue. It was a difficult feat. His continued attempts at exploring the island were barely any distraction from his growing ire at all when at regular intervals he was certain he could hear Sir Percy following him quietly through the jungle without being seen, probably just to prove that he could. Chauvelin eventually abandoned his exploration, because he felt certain that he must have seen more or less all of their island prison by now. Aside from the fresh water (which turned out to be disconcertingly close to their spot on the beach when one is not wandering around lost, as Sir Percy had shown him the morning after he had announced his discovery) there did not seem to be anything of interest there to find.

After that, Chauvelin mostly stuck to the shade near the edge of the beach, often commandeering Sir Percy's hammock simply because it was there, and even that lost its appeal when Sir Percy never offered any protest and instead simply created a second one and hung it nearby. There was not much else to do on the island aside from collect edibles from the jungle and the shoreline and then sit around and watch Sir Percy catch fish and then watch him cook and then eat. The routine was occasionally punctuated by instead watching Sir Percy make another palm frond hat, which Chauvelin then refused to wear and burned at the first opportunity.

Sir Percy seemed to take the burning of his hats as a challenge, and each successive one was slightly bigger or more elaborate than the one before. At first he only made small changes to the designs. The second hat had had the addition of trim, also made from palm fronds, around its edges. The third hat was larger, and its trim was pleated. The fourth hat was larger yet, and in addition to the pleated trim Sir Percy also added a cockade made of three different shades of green. Despite himself, Chauvelin felt an almost morbid curiosity to see what horrors the fifth hat would hold and how many more iterations would be required before Sir Percy stopped being satisfied with only making hats and he wanted to foist entire outfits made of palm fronds onto Chauvelin. With luck, Chauvelin thought, perhaps they would denude the entire island of leafy weaving material before it came to that.

As the days wore on, Chauvelin started wondering if the hats were yet another instance of Sir Percy engaging in misdirection, because he was beginning to notice that the Englishman seemed to be catching more fish than the two of them needed. He also seemed to be cooking far fewer fish than Chauvelin saw him catch, but he also did not seem to be throwing them back either. There was not a growing pile of rotting fish befouling the ground and air near their campsite, so whatever Sir Percy was doing with all the extra fish he caught was something of a mystery.

Chauvelin tried asking about it once, but Sir Percy only replied, "Oh, it's just a little matter of something I noticed in the jungle some days before, nothing you or your Committee of Public Safety would find interesting, I'm sure."

Chauvelin was sure then that Sir Percy was hiding something, but it did not seem worth his while to pry deeper into the matter yet, so he added the question to the list of things he idly speculated about in the privacy of his own mind to pass the time. Chauvelin had gotten very habituated to keeping his own council long before the Revolution, so in that regard life on the island is no different than life for him in Paris or anywhere else.

He guessed that Sir Percy has probably set up some system of hanging the extra fish to dry them for longer storage for sustenance on days when the weather was less hospitable for daily foraging, but he could not be certain and could not see any benefit in keeping such a thing secret, unless the Englishman was once again keeping secrets to feel a sense of having the upper hand and, when caught, would claim he was doing it to give Chauvelin another puzzle to work out. Then again, for all Chauvelin knew, Sir Percy could be working to collect enough fish skins to create some kind of sea monster costume in which he planned to later hide all of the fugitive monks and nuns and the accomplice villagers and walk them out of the village by the main road in broad daylight while Chauvelin's men and any other observes scattered in fear and confusion. That would be a ridiculous plan, but Chauvelin knew his nemesis too well to feel safe in assuming that such audacity was beyond the ever elusive and unpredictable Scarlet Pimpernel.

They had barely been on the island for more than a week, and Chauvelin was certain that he was already going stircrazy with no one but the eminently obnoxious Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart. for company. Sir Percy assured Chauvelin that his friends would arrive to pick them up and take them back to civilization any day now, so there was no need to worry and in the meantime they should just enjoy their little holiday. Chauvelin grew tired of listening to yet more of Sir Percy's prattling and got up to go sit in the shade of a different group of trees.

"I would not do that if I were you, M. Chambertin," Sir Percy warned as Chauvelin departed.

"And I am sure you are perfectly capable of keeping up your seemingly endless one-sided conversation whether I am right next to you or not," Chauvelin retorted and settled himself down in the shade of the more distant tree.

Percy did not protest any further, but he did begin sitting quietly and staring at Chauvelin as he relaxed in his new location. Chauvelin was just beginning to wonder how long the other man planned to keep this up when the previously still air stirred to life with a gust of wind, and in short order Chauvelin was almost killed by a falling coconut dropping out of the tree he had chosen to sit beneath. It did not hit him on the head, but it did hit him where his arm joined his shoulder, and the surprise and pain of it was enough to temporarily stun the Frenchman. Moments later, Sir Percy tackled Chauvelin out of the way of a second coconut which probably _would_ have landed directly on his head with possibly fatal results if he had remained where he was. Unfortunately, the method of saving his life left Chauvelin even more sore and unhappy than before.

Sir Percy made him a neat little sling out of a spare bit of sailcloth leftover from the construction of the shelter and the hammocks to keep the arm immobilized to prevent aggravating the injury. He tied the knot, then untied it and retied it. He repeated this several times as Chauvelin's impatience grew, until Chauvelin realized that Sir Percy was not having difficulty completing a simple knot to hold the sling in place but instead was attempting fancier and fancier cravat knots for the fun of it. Refusing to be anyone's plaything, Chauvelin shoved away from Sir Percy with his uninjured arm and retreated into the jungle in search of solitude.

Once within the deeper and hopefully safer shade of the non-coconut-bearing trees, Chauvelin decided to go to the nearby pool of water for a cool drink. As he walked, he heard more faint sounds of someone or something quietly passing through the undergrowth beside the path and a little ways behind him. He believed it was just Sir Percy following him again as he always seemed to. Chauvelin turned around to confront the man, snarling, "There's no need to follow me around even if you are feeling protective of me for some misplaced reason, not when we're far from any coconut palms or other heavily laden fruit trees which might do any harm in this patch of woods."

Sir Percy stepped out of the shadows and, raising his hands in a placating gesture, said, "There are other things on this island which could do a man harm."

Chauvelin sneered. "Are you talking about yourself or your cannibal snails, Sir Percy."

"I dearly wish that either of those options were the worst of our worries," Sir Percy said. "There is a large hungry jungle cat stalking us both in this tiny patch of forest, possibly harmless but also possibly planning to tear us both to pieces and scatter our entrails all over the place, making a mess of the whole island and no doubt upsetting whoever next lands on the island and finds whatever scraps of us are left."

Chauvelin was understandably skeptical of this idea. "What has this supposed large and hungry jungle cat been eating this whole time before we arrived, since the island doesn't seem to have many creatures larger than insects, snails, and small frogs living on it? Surely if something so large has been feeding itself on nothing but seagulls and the contents of their nests, then the whole population of birds would have been wiped from the island long ago."

"There were signs that the Prince of Wales's escaped pet leopard had found her way onto my little ship," Sir Percy explained. "My crew and I were looking to capture her when you unexpectedly popped out at me with a sword and caused matters to skew off in another direction entirely. She must have gone overboard in the storm and swum to the island just as we did. Some of the fish I catch have been going missing, but there is no telling if such a diet will keep a beast meant for hunting satisfied for long."

Chauvelin could not hold back a snort of derision at Sir Percy's unlikely tale. "If you expect me to believe that pack of nonsense, Sir Percy," the Frenchman said, "then you are even more foolish than you pretend to be."

Just then there were more sounds of something moving through the undergrowth even though the wind had once again gone still and Chauvelin and Sir Percy were both standing still on the path. A black leopard stepped out onto the path and stared at the two men.

Sir Percy tried to reassure Chauvelin that it was just the Prince of Wales's pet leopard (or he thinks it's probably the prince's pet leopard, at least ninety percent certain it's the prince's leopard, even if it isn't wearing its fancy jeweled collar that would have identified it, because where else could it possibly have come from?) and even if it was some strange leopard they had never met before, running away from it still wouldn't be a good idea, because that would just encourage the beast to give chase and play with a fellow once it had caught them. Really, my good man, have you never seen a cat with a mouse?

It was all for naught, though, as Chauvelin panicked and ran. Later, Chauvelin would try to justify it with the reasoning that he knew he didn't have to run faster than the leopard, he only had to run faster than Sir Percy, which might have been difficult under ordinary circumstances but was dead easy if Sir Percy was refusing to run. In truth, Chauvelin wasn't really thinking about anything and just acted on fearful impulse in the moment.

He ran and tried to climb the first tree he saw with branches low enough to reach, but he had always been more cerebral than athletic, and his body did not rise to the occasion and take up the slack while his mind was off gibbering in a corner. Besides, even if he had been born a champion tree climber and practiced every day of his life and had not currently been hampered by an injured shoulder, the leopard would still have been just as good as he was if not better. The leopard ran up the other side of the trunk just as quickly as it moved on level ground while Chauvelin struggled his way up by the branches. He thought he had gotten himself out of reach, only to look up and find the leopard waiting above him.

The leopard swiped a large paw at Chauvelin, causing him to lose his grip on the branch and fall back to earth, where he landed flat on his back, knocking the wind out of him. The leopard leapt down after him before he could regain his breath to make another escape attempt, but instead of tearing out his throat or belly, both of which were within easy reach and unprotected by anything which would provide any significant impediment to a leopard's claws, the leopard simply lay down half beside the little Frenchman and half draped across his involuntarily supine body.

Leopards cannot purr with contentment the way a common housecat does, but this one looked like it would have if it could. The ordeal was thoroughly terrifying and uncomfortable for Chauvelin while it was happening and was still somewhat terrifying and uncomfortable now that it seems to be over, but at least the lack of death and dismemberment seemed to have proved Sir Percy right about this being the Prince's lost leopard.

Having witnessed everything which had just happened and now trying to restrain himself from possibly disrupting the animal with his laughter, Sir Percy told Chauvelin not to move and, with a promise that he would return shortly, slowly backed away down the path back toward the beach until he was out of sight.

Chauvelin did not move, not that he really had a choice in the matter at the moment. He could not even breathe deeply with the weight of the leopard on his chest. Fortunately, Sir Percy was true to his word and came back from wherever he had gone in short order, though for once Chauvelin had found himself wishing for the man's company long before that happened, just because even listening to inane chatter would be better than being stuck alone under a large predator, however friendly it might have been behaving in the meantime.

Sir Percy returned to find the leopard licking the top of Chauvelin's head as if grooming a kitten or, considering the habits of the people the leopard kept company with when she was at home, possibly attempting to set his mussed hair into a style befitting a gentleman. Sir Percy waved a large freshly caught fish in what he hoped is a tantalizing manner for the leopard and then threw it further down the path so that it landed in easy view but far enough away that the leopard would have to get off of Chauvelin and move a significant ways away from him in order to claim the fish.

The fish landed near the pool of water and flopped a couple of times, seeming to be trying to return to the closest thing to its natural habitat within reach, but before it could reach its destination, the leopard rolled off of Chauvelin and pounced on the fish with all the ferocity it had withheld from using on the Frenchman, dispatching it with a single bite and then retreating up a tree to consume its prize high above the forest floor. Percy used the distraction to rush forward and haul Chauvelin to his feet and then keep a firm grip on him while they both backed away instead of risking letting Chauvelin run away again. They made it around the bend in the path without incident, at which point Percy deemed it safe for them to turn around and begin walking more normally, though he kept glancing over his shoulder and all around them in case the leopard was still hungry enough after its meal to go back to stalking them.

"It's a good thing that it seems even leopards can be distracted like a common housecat, M. Chambertin," Sie Percy said with a slightly forced sounding chuckle while still maintaining his grip on Chauvelin's arm, "or there's no telling what she might have done to you. Oh, look, something shiny!"

The something shiny turned out to the jeweled collar which identified the leopard as belonging to the Prince of Wales. It had apparently gotten caught in the branches of a low bush, and the leopard wriggled out of it while trying to free itself from the tangle. Now the sun was at just the right angle for a sunbeam to cut through a small gap in the canopy of trees above them and land on the collar, making it glitter. Sir Percy picked it up and they continued on their way back to the beach, constantly aware of the great beast which may or may not have been following them.


	7. The fox, the eagle, and the leopard

Once back at the beach, the two men were faced with the question of how to make sure that the leopard remained as personable toward them as she currently seemed. Sir Percy decided that the answer was to indulge in more fishing. Having gotten a lot of practice fishing with his improvised fishing equipment in the last few days, Sir Percy easily caught more fish for the leopard, which he left in a pile in the shade at the edge of the beach. Not long after, the leopard came slinking out of the shadows, ate the fish, then sprawled out next to Chauvelin to take a nap.

"Odd's teeth, but I do believe the demmed creature truly likes you," Sir Percy remarked with no small amount of glee in his voice.

"Please refrain from mentioning teeth right now, Sir Percy," Chauvelin said while trying to move as little of himself as possible in the process. He realized a moment too late that such a plea would likely do nothing but encourage the Englishman.

"If you insist, my dear fellow," Sir Percy drawled with his usual fake-innocent grin, "but it's just such a stirring sight. Really claws at the heart, if you know what I mean?" Sir Percy then went back to his fishing, because the leopard had eaten all the leftover fish and he did not want to take any chances on what the big cat might do if it woke up hungry. While he was waiting for the next fish to succumb to the enticing sparkling of his bent cravat pin lure, Sir Percy looked toward the horizon and caught sight of an approaching ship, and it was none other than his own rickety looking fishing boat aboard which he had sneaked out of England not so long ago.

He managed to exchange communicative signals with the ship by way of semaphore style waving, though Chauvelin could not recognize whatever code they were using. Whatever conversation was exchanged ended with the ship sailing around to the other side of the island and putting out a rowboat which landed in the small natural harbor.

Sir Andrew Ffoulkes and Lord Tony Dewhurst hopped out of the boat and greet their leader, who in turn told them that he and Chauvelin had had a lovely little holiday on their secluded island and that, as luck would have it, they had also managed to find the Prince's missing leopard.

The Englishmen decided that they might be able to use the leopard's apparent fondness for Chauvelin to lure her back into the boat so they could get it back to the Prince of Wales. They loaded up Chauvelin's arms with more of the fish which Sir Percy had caught (and even stuffed a few more into his sling for good measure) and then had him get into the rowboat while everyone else stood clear. This is awkward for Chauvelin, but he managed to climb into the rowboat with the armload of fish unassisted without dropping too many of the fish or tripping and breaking his face on the boat or falling in the water or doing anything to spur the leopard into attacking him.

The leopard cautiously followed him into the boat, and once she appeared to have settled in place, the other men carefully pushed the boat off the sand and into deeper water, eased their way into the boat (a matter which required more athleticism than one might think without having tried it themselves, especially when one is trying to make the process as unnoticeable as possible for the other passengers of the craft; the phrase "don't rock the boat" is rarely more apt than when one is sharing said boat with a leopard) and rowed their way back to the ship as swiftly yet gently as such things were possible.

Once they arrived at the ship, there was some worry about how to get the leopard from the boat onto the ship's deck, because no one wanted to be the one to try to tie a rope securely enough around the beast's middle for it to stay in place while they hauled her aboard and then try to untie that rope from the no doubt much less happy leopard. They considered trying to just hoisting the whole boat onto the deck with the leopard still in it, but one wrong move could tip the boat and dump the leopard into the ocean, or the leopard could become disgruntled enough to jump into the ocean of her own volition, and the logistics of rescue and/or capture in the water had the potential to be far more dangerous for everyone involved.

Luckily, the matter solved itself in the end, because once Chauvelin managed to clamber up the rope ladder which had been lowered over the side of the ship, the leopard leapt up after him, launching herself out of the boat with such force as to send the small craft rocking enough for seawater to slop in over the gunwales. The leopard paid no attention to any of that, landing against the side of the ship to sink her claws into the wood only a foot below the railing and then pulling herself the rest of the way up, over, and onto the deck in a single fluid motion which put all the fit young men watching from below to shame.

After that, it was a simple matter to get the rest of the men aboard, raise the boat, stow it in its usual place, and then haul up the anchor and depart. Chauvelin might have almost been happy to finally be on his way away from his island prison if he had not also already begun feeling the first hints of seasickness descending upon him, made all the worse by his clothes still reeking of the fish he had carried. Also, the leopard wanted to sit on him again as soon as he made the mistake of sinking down on the deck to rest for a moment after his climb, and he still was not sure if it actually liked him or just saw sitting on him as a way to prevent a future meal from running away. Either way, he had no choice in the matter. Despite himself, Chauvelin was beginning to fall asleep under the leopard, more from exhaustion and lack of anything better to do than out of any sense of comfort or safety, when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He looked to see Sir Percy, who had gotten a fresh change of clothes from somewhere and was once again looking impeccably groomed and dressed, right down to the perfect fall of every exaggerated ruffle in his lacey cravat.

"La, but look at the pair that the two of you make, sitting there together like that," Sir Percy drawled down at them. "You're so like a set of twins that I swear it's nigh impossible to tell which is the Frenchman and which is the leopard. If you aren't careful, the Prince might accidentally lock you up in his menagerie while sending the leopard to France to take over your duties, and your Committee of Public Safety might never notice the difference."

"While here I was, thinking that I should send a note to your prince telling him that if he has not yet settled on a name for the beast then he should name it after you, Sir Percy." Chauvelin scowled up at his enemy but, understandably given the circumstances, did not try to rise to face him on more even footing, as much as that was ever possible.

"You can tell him that in person if you so desire," Sir Percy said, his ordinarily lazy blue eyes lit with delight and mockery. "After all, His Highness will want to personally thank the man most responsible for the return of his beloved leopard." He lowered himself into a crouch beside Chauvelin and added in a conspiratorial whisper, "We'll just keep it a little secret between friends that said leopard likely never would have wandered quite so far afield if she had not been following your poor example to begin with. He will probably throw a celebratory ball in your honor, which I'm sure will be a joy to attend. I'll have to make a preemptive trip to my tailor as soon as we land so as to be certain to look my best for it. Oh, and I can use to time in transit to compose a new poem or three for the occasion. I should get started on that right away. After all, 'leopard' is a devilishly tricky word to find good rhymes for, and I have already used up 'shepherd' and would not want to repeat myself. I suppose I should consider myself lucky that you aren't going to be celebrated for finding the Prince's missing oranges!" Sir Percy brayed out a loud laugh which caused the leopard to twitch.

Chauvelin braced himself for the pain of claws sinking into his flesh or other feline violence. Sir Percy, on the other hand, had the temerity to reach out a hand (somewhat less lily white than usual thanks to his time spent fishing in the island sun) and stroked the leopard under her large black chin, soothing her back down as quickly as his laughter had riled her, and no additional injury was done to the small Frenchman's person.

Lacking any other means of striking out at his enemy, Chauvelin chose to steer the conversation in a direction more relevant to his own interests. "Whereas _I_ should think," he said, "that you would be more interested in setting yourself to the task which you had been engaged in before this detour inconvenienced us."

"What, fox hunting?" Sir Percy asked, his face a veritable picture of confusion. "I told you before that really isn't my pastime of choice, seeing how as sports go it feels far less… sporting than certain other pursuits currently available, so I only participate when I must do so at the Prince's request. Now, if _you_ wish to finagle another invitation to such an event, the Prince will likely be more than amenable after the return of his leopard."

"I meant the matter of those precious hostages who you have yet to rescue. I should have thought that would be enough of a sport to hold your interest through to the end." Chauvelin wanted to glare at Sir Percy until the man took a hint and left or Chauvelin was able to burn a hole straight through him through sheer force of will, whichever lamentably impossible event happened first, but it was difficult to focus all of his attention on his enemy while pinned beneath a hundred odd pounds of carnivore.

"Oh, that?" Sir Percy drawled dismissively, "Yes, that was quite the interesting puzzle, I'll grant you that. In fact, it was such an interesting puzzle that Ffoulkes and Dewhurst here and a few other friends went and solved it for themselves while the two of us were delayed, so all that's left now is the cleanup, and that's your side of the game, not mine." He paused and then added, "No, I'll admit, that's a demmed lie. In truth, my good fellows here were setting off for France even as the two of us were getting rained out of that first attempt at a hunt. Marguerite even went with 'em to help with the ladyfolk. For once, I was just the distraction while they got to claim the lion's share of the adventure, and you took the bait admirably."

Only perpetual wariness of the potentially volatile mood of the leopard lying draped across Chauvelin's lap prevented him from leaping to his feet with an incredulous shout of "What?!?"

"That's the problem with associates who possess the competence to act without your direct supervision; sometimes they use it to steal all the fun for themselves, the greedy bounders," Sir Percy sighed with mock regret. "But then I suppose you wouldn't have any experience on that front, would you?" And with a final tickle under the leopard's chin and pause to straighten the bedraggled remains of Chauvelin's cravat, Sir Percy arose from his crouch and walked away to amuse himself on some other part of the ship, leaving Chauvelin at the mercy of the leopard, which now sounded suspiciously like she was snoring.

***~ The End *~**


End file.
